


Five Times Foggy Offered Help

by wolfy_writing



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfy_writing/pseuds/wolfy_writing
Summary: From Matt and Foggy's college years to Season 2 of Daredevil





	

1.

"Hey, would you like a hand?"

Matt tried not to tense up.  Foggy seemed remarkably cool about Matt's blindness, but people got weird when they started offering help.  They got controlling.  They decided they knew what was best for Matt.  They didn't just try to guide him, but steer him, deciding where he should be, when he should stop, and what he should do.  And it got tiring playing along.

( _"People think you're helpless, Matty.  Weak.  That gives you an advantage," Stick said.  "Don't waste that out of pride.  Play the poor blind kid and pick your moment to show what you can really do."_

_But Stick had left, and it seemed like the moment never came.)_

"Like you could grab my arm if you wanted.  I think that's how that works. Or are you good with the cane?"

Matt relaxed.  "I'm good with the cane.  Plus, if we live together _and_ we're always walking around holding hands, people might talk."

Foggy snorted. "Now I know you're blind.  There's no way anyone would expect a dude who looks like me to end up with a dude who looks like you."  He paused.  "Should I be telling you about doors or steps or things?"

Matt should probably say yes to that.  Normal blind people would probably say yes.  But he decided to take a chance.  "I can generally get them with the cane.  I've got a good feel for this.  Unless it's something really out of place, don't worry about it."

"Cool," said Foggy.  "I figure you know way more about the whole blind thing than I do."

Matt laughed.  "Yeah, I probably do."

2.

"Could you do me a favor?" 

Matt didn't like asking people for help.  But they'd been roommates three months, and Foggy hadn't gotten weird once.  He'd never insisted Matt needed to be led around when Matt didn't want it, never taken anything out of Matt's hands or told him he couldn't do something.

"Sure," said Foggy.  "What?"  He was sprawled out on his bed, going through one of this textbooks.  From the smell of the ink and the speed at which he was flipping pages, Foggy was taking the "Highlight it enough and it counts as learning the material" approach to studying.

"I need some new shirts, and I could use someone to tell me what color they are.  I could ask the clerk, but they keep trying to take over and pick out a whole look for me."  It was practically a rule - every time Matt asked "Excuse me, can you tell me what color this is?", they'd take it out of his hand and give him a whole pile of items made of different fabrics, with different textures, and leave Matt with no idea how anything coordinated with what he already had.

"No sweat."  Foggy sat up.  "If there's one thing you're safe from, it's me trying to give someone a look.  As you would know if you could see how I dressed."

Matt smiled.  "I'm sure you look great."

"You know what?  Screw it.  I do look great.  It's not like you're going to argue with me.  I am the coolest, handsomest, most stylishly-dressed man on campus, and anyone who tells you different is lying!"  Foggy stood up.  "Now let's go make you look half as good as me!"

-

"So blue?" asked Foggy.  "There's like five different kinds of blue shirts here."

"Describe them."

Foggy sighed.  "My middle-school art teacher is so going to be saying 'I told you so' about this.  There's...light blue, dark blue, medium blue, medium blue that's kind of greenish, and like really dark blue."

"Medium blue," said Matt. "Three of them."

Foggy handed Matt the shirts.  The texture was an exact match for the one Matt had fond earlier, and they were apparently not pink.  (If Foggy got Matt a pink shirt, Matt was going to request a new roommate.)

At the register, the clerk held up the shirt.  "With your coloring, I think you'd do better in warmer tones."

"These will be fine," said Matt.

"But you could do well with warm colors!  A nice yellow, maybe, or a rich red?"

"I'm good."

"You heard him," said Foggy.  "He's good.  Can you just let him buy the shirts?"

3.

"You okay?"

 _Foggy_ , Matt thought, through the pain in his head.  He could hear more noises in the background, _what's with him,_ and _you idiot, you set that off right in his ear,_ and the sound of cans opening and drinks sloshing and shoes and blood and heartbeats and _should we call a doctor?_

"No," he spit out.  "No doctor."  He took his hands down from his ears and tried to regain his focus, tried to do like Stick taught him.  But there were people, breathing, talking, moving people, and he couldn't find one thing to focus on.

"Easy, Matt.  Let's go somewhere a little quieter."  Foggy's hand was on Matt's shoulder, gently nudging him through the crowd.

And Foggy's heartbeat, steady as a rock, for Matt to focus on.

Matt, actually grateful for once, let himself be led off to a backroom.

-

"You doing ok?" Foggy asked, after Matt had a few minutes to breathe.

Matt nodded. "Better, yeah.  That was..."

"I can imagine.  I can't believe Craig.  An airhorn?  How the hell does that kind of immature asshole make it into law school?  It gave me a splitting headache, and your ears are..."

Matt froze.  "My ears?"

"Delicate, like you said.  You get bad spins.  Must have made the air horn worse.  I thought you were going to pass out."

"I was just a bit..."  Matt couldn't figure out a normal-person way to end that sentence, so he trailed off and rubbed his ear.  "I'm fine now.  You can go back to the party."

"Or," said Foggy, "We could get out of here."

"You don't have to go because of me."

"No, I should probably go and brush up on torts."

"You're getting an A in torts."

"Yeah, but you're getting an A plus, and if we both go, you can tell me your secrets!"

Matt smiled.  "Hard work, mostly."

"Damn," said Foggy.  "I was afraid of that.  Come on, let's go back to our room and get a pizza."

"I thought you wanted a night off."

"Okay, then let's go get a pizza and rent a monster movie.  I promise to describe all of the special effects!"

Matt chuckled.  Foggy's descriptions turned any movie into the kind of comedy that left Matt falling off the couch with laughter.  "Are you really good with leaving?"

"These people are assholes!  I'm dying to leave.  Come on buddy, help me out?"

4.

"Are you okay?"

Matt took a sip of beer.  "Fine.  Why?"

Foggy lightly touched the bruise on Matt's wrist.  "You've been having a lot of accidents."

"I'm fine."  Matt pulled his wrist away.  _Long sleeves_ , he reminded himself.  "I just slipped in the shower."

"Yeah, but before that you had the kitchen accident.  And before that, you walked into a door.  Who the hell walks into a door?"

"I know," said Matt, dryly.  "You'd have to be blind."

"Look," said Foggy.  "I know you.  Normally, you can take care of yourself.  So when you're getting all banged up like this, I worry.  Especially when your explanations sound like they come from a Lifetime movie.  Is something wrong?"

Matt set his beer down on the table.  "Inner ear problem.  Doctor said it's just a virus, but it's knocked my balance out of whack.  It should clear up soon."

Foggy let out a relieved sigh.  "You should have told me!  I would have taken out the garbage!  And made you some food!"

Matt snorted.  "You would have cooked?"

"I would have...brought you some food!  Believe me, I tell my mom you're not feeling well and bam!  You'll be neck-deep in deli meats."  Foggy paused.  "That sounded better in my head."

Matt laughed.  "I know what you mean.  Thanks.  It's pretty much cleared up."

"That's good.  But next time you tell me, okay?"  Foggy patted Matt on the shoulder.  "Friends help each other."

Matt nodded.  A knot of guilt started to form in his stomach, but he drowned it with a long sip of beer.  "You'll be the first person I talk to."

5.

Claire's fingers ran down Matt's sides, with professional detachment.  "I spoke to your friend Foggy again" she said.

"Yeah?"  Matt tried to keep his voice steady.

"He's worried about you."

"I'm fine."  He tried not to let out a hiss of pain as Claire poked a tender spot.

"You're not," said Claire.  "Although, sadly, you're in better shape than usual.  At least all of your ribs have healed up."

"Perfect health."  Matt reached out and felt around for the bottle of aspirin.

"You know it's only a matter of time until you get some real organ damage, right?  In fact, I can't promise you don't have any.  I can spot certain severe issues, but without access to labs or proper equipment, there's only so many things I can check for.  And you know what's not good for kidneys?  Severe beatings."

"I said I'm fine."

"You really need to stop saying that," said Claire.  "It's not as convincing as you seem to think it is."

Matt walked over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.  He went back to the aspirin and shook out three.

"Be careful with those," said Claire.  "There's such a thing as a chronic aspirin overdose."

"I'm..."  Matt caught himself. "I'm careful."

There was an awkward silence.

"Foggy said you were shot in the head."

"That was weeks ago.  The armor stopped the bullet."

"Right, because blunt force trauma to the head is _nothing_ to worry about," Claire said sarcastically.

Matt took the aspirin and said nothing. 

"Foggy asked if I thought you were okay.  Psychologically, I mean."  Claire took a deep breath.  "He's worried about what's going on with you that you'd put yourself through this.  I wish I had something reassuring to tell him."

"It's not what's going on with me, it's what's going on out there," said Matt.  "You know this."

"You're not the only one out there.  I've met a few people like you.  People with...special talents, and a desire to help.  They don't bleed as often as you do."

Matt shrugged.  "If Foggy's worried, he can talk to me himself."

"He hasn't tried?"

Matt didn't reply.

"I thought so," said Claire.  "He didn't seem to be the type of guy who's talk to me about this if he hadn't tried to talk to you first.  You know you really need to learn how to accept help."

-

After Claire left, Matt picked up his phone.  He found Foggy's number.

Maybe they _could_ talk.  Just talk.  Foggy was a good listener.  He paid attention to what Matt wanted, and unlike most people, he didn't assume that helping was an excuse for taking over Matt's life.

Then again, Matt wasn't sure if he needed help.  He didn't know what the problem was, or even if he had a problem in the sense Claire meant.

And Foggy would want Matt to give up being Daredevil.  That was not an option.  They'd end up going around in the same circles and go nowhere.

Matt put the phone down, and went for his costume.


End file.
